


One By One My Leaves Fall

by vostara



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Headaches & Migraines, and may not reflect how you experience migraines, description of migraine is based entirely on my own experience, descriptions of vomit, side effect of migraines :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24900130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vostara/pseuds/vostara
Summary: A self-indulgent fic where Angela helps a gender-neutral reader with their migraine.
Relationships: Angela "Mercy" Ziegler/Gender-Neutral Reader, Angela "Mercy" Ziegler/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	One By One My Leaves Fall

**Author's Note:**

> I suffer from excruciating migraines that often effect my daily life. All details regarding the described migraine are based on my personal experience and routine when dealing with them.

The pain always starts with a dull throb. It prods at the left side of your face, in the small space just below the eye and next to the nose. By the end of the hour, the throbbing spreads, capturing the orbital bone and creeping its way up into the temple. When the pain escalates from a dulled gnawing to that of a piercing pain of a knife etching itself into your skull, you know the worst of it all is about to come. There is no hope now for preventing the chaos and misery about to unfold.

You retreat to the comfort of your bed, right before your brain can fully process the nausea forming in the pit of your stomach. Moments later, you can feel your body enter a state of panic, confusion, self-destruction. Your stomach is twisting, tangling itself into painful knots. Your skin begins to burn. It becomes a furnace of scorching heat that is overtaking you. And then you’re shoving the sheets away from you because you can feel them suffocating you. The skin of chest, your face, your arms, and your fingers grow clammy, coating themselves with a thin layer of sweat. And even though you know you’ll be okay once the you’ve slept until the next morning, you fear that this time your body truly is breaking down. That maybe this migraine isn’t the same as the ones before it, that this one is irregular, introducing a modification to your usual experience. What if this one ends up being too much pain for your body to handle?

With a shaking hand, you reach towards the beside table. Your fingers wrap around the edges of your communicator and you pull it close to your body. The brightness of the screen introduces you to a new wave pain, forcing you to squint your eyes to dull the sensation. You push through it, focusing your attention on opening your list of contacts. Your fingers slide down the screen, looking for a name in particular.

Angela Ziegler.

She’s helped you through this many times before. She knows your routine, almost better than you do.

When you find her name, your fingers press against it.

Almost immediately, the call is answered. And before she can utter a single word, you whimper a strained, “Can you come here?”

There is a brief pause after your words.

She just needs a moment, to pull herself away from her work and focus her attention on you. A moment to completely process the tremble in your voice, the desperation and pain lacing your words. And then she realizes what is happening, that you need her before the situation escalates.

“I’ll be right there,” she responds.

Barely ten minutes later, the doors of your room slide open. Angela heads straight towards the bed, kneeling on the floor beside you. She places a gentle hand on your exposed arm and rubs soothing circles against your skin.

“What do you need?” She says.

A wave of nausea hits and you whine at the discomfort. You need a few moments to build up your strength, before you can respond. “Gonna be sick,” you say.

Angela pulls away from you and rushes to your bathroom. She opens the cabinet beneath the sink and pulls out a large bowl, one you keep stowed away for situations like this.

The moment she places the bowl onto the bed, your fingers clutch onto it, digging themselves into the plastic. As you shift to sit in an upright position, the coil containing the bile inside of your stomach breaks, and you hurl the fluids into the vessel. The acid burns the inside of your throat and the chunks of your undigested lunch heighten the experience, making you feel more disgusted and uncomfortable.

After the first round of vomit has fully exited your system, Angela pulls the bowl away. She disappears into the bathroom, dumping out its contents and giving it a quick rinse. When she returns, she brings a spare towel. The medic covers a small area of the bed with it, before placing the bowl on top of the material.

You take a moment to attempt calming yourself down, inhaling shaky, gasping breathes of air. The pain of your migraine is still throbbing and the knots in your stomach are steadily rebuilding themselves.

Lurching forward, another round of bile escapes from your body.

Angela perches herself on the edge of the bed. She reaches towards you, pulling your hair away from your face. “It’s okay,” she says, “let it out.”

Tears leak from your eyes as you throw up once again, but the action finally eases the knots that had embedded themselves inside of you. When you pull your hands away from the bowl, the woman takes it away from the bed.

“I’ll be right back,” she says. “Do you want a wet washcloth?”

You inhale.

Exhale.

“Yes,” you respond.

She heads back towards the bathroom. When she switches on the faucet to clean the mess, you focus your attention on the sound of the running water. Anything to distract you from stabbing pain grinding against your skull.

Once you’re certain the nausea has subsided, you move to lay down on the bed. You feel exhausted, overwhelmed by the state of your body.

Angela returns, placing a cool, damp cloth against your forehead. When she sees your body begin to relax from the sensation, she reaches out for the small music player sitting on the table. She turns it on, breaking the silence of the room with the soft sound of a piano.

The noise pulls your thoughts away from the migraine, allowing you to focus on the music produced by the keys of the instrument.

When your muscles are no longer clenched from the pain and your breathing is back to a normal rate, Angela picks up the washrag. She wipes the fabric against more of your skin. It relieves the burning sensation, allowing your body to cool down.

The motions comfort you and you begin to drift off into a shallow state of slumber. Half-conscious, you utter a quiet, “Thank you.” The words are muffled by the pillow pressed against your lips.

The woman moves to crawl onto the bed, settling herself behind you. She presses a hand against your back and rubs gentle strokes against the fabric of your shirt. Angela pauses for a moment, shifting to settle herself closer to you. She leans forward, placing her lips against your shoulder blade to leave a soft kiss on the skin.

Your smile at the contact.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this fic, or just like my work in general, I would very much appreciate any kudos and/or comments you can provide. Any piece of support helps motivate a small writer like me!
> 
> Twitter: VostaraFics  
> Tumblr: Vostara


End file.
